Far From Home
by AwakeOrangutang
Summary: The story of a previously enslaved Khajitt trying to make it in xenophobic Skyrim. Takes place during Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.


Far From Home

**Attention Fanfiction viewers. I do not own the rights to the Elder Scrolls franchise. Also, thank you for spending the time to peruse my fanfic. And yes, this chapter is short. I intend to make this a rare occasion. That is all.**

Ch. 1 How It All Began

Solid blue eyes watering, ears flattened against head, too weak to even support my own tail, I hated life. I leaned on the railing of the ship weakly, fighting to keep myself from throwing up again. When I had taken this ship, I hadn't known that I easily got seasick. Now I was caught in its thrall and cursing myself. Still, it was better than the life from which I came. I started focusing on my past, hoping to stave off more seasickness.

I had been born into slavery on the Summerset Isles. Technically it was illegal but that didn't stop the Thalmor from running rings. Like my mother and father before me, I was given an odd name reflecting our status in the mines. Malachite, the material used to make glass weapons. Mirroring what had happened to my mother Moonstone and my father Quicksilver, I was banished to a life in the mines. Or at least, that how it was originally planned. But it was soon found out that my physique was too scrawny to handle such physically demanding work. Thus, I was sent to be the servant of the Thalmor master who owned the mines.

I was tossed out of the frying pan and into another pan that cooked something different but was no less hot, to twist a metaphor. If I was slow, I was beaten. If I touched anything I wasn't ordered to, even accidently, I was beaten. For every word I said when I wasn't commanded to speak, for not standing up straight, for every miniscule thing they could possibly punish me on. I was beaten. I was trained since I was a cub to obey orders swiftly and without question. At night, I was thrown out like a stray animal and into the cramped cages of all the other Khajiit slaves, saying that staying indoors was too good for a savage beast. This wasn't all bad, though. It was outside and in these cages that my parents taught me how to speak and about our culture (unlike me, they hadn't always been slaves). It was like this I lived for a long while.

It was in these founding years, thought, that I discovered my love for magic. As cruel as the Thalmor were, I tried to remain as close as possible to them in order to get a glimpse of them using magic. By watching them, I was able to learn rudimentary spells on how to project fire from my hands and ways to heal myself after beatings. I learned little more but continued to watch. Most of their magic was much too advanced for me. But just seeing them work their craft was enough to sate my hunger.

Most of my life was but a blur. Waiting around my masters followed by bursts of activity and usually a painful end. However, an intrepid adventurer had come through recently. He had noticed our plight and said a few choice words to the Thalmor owners. Later that night, the Nord fellow returned and unlocked our cages (our including me and some other slaves, my parents had died by this point). He told us to wait nearby while he freed some other prisoners. Few of us did as he said and I wasn't one of them. I took the time to rob some food and septims from a nearby barrack. It should have tipped me off when the place was empty. When I exited, I saw the silhouette of the Nord fellow running across the field. Little did he know that several Thalmor Inquisitors were following him. I watched in horror as he was brutally attacked and then burned to a crisp. The Inquisitors ran off, hurrying to round up any escapees. I took this time to survey the scene. There was nothing left of him but a pile of ashes and the smell of burnt flesh. I could tell the Inquisitors had raided his body beforehand though. Laying next to him was a bag of personal belongings. No septim was to be found and all food had burned with him. All that I saw was a letter with lines on it but I never had been taught to read. I took it anyway, figuring somebody would know what it said, and scooped his ashes into an urn pilfered from the barracks.

Dawn had begun to approach and I had known that little time was left for me to escape. I dashed into the nearest village. Stowing away on a boat that was just leaving dock was the best ideal, even if I was discovered. I made a mighty leap onto a boat and hid amongst the crates. It was only when we were out at sea and somebody was doing a cargo check that I was found and they had graciously allowed me to stay onboard as long as I shared chores with the crew.

And so here I was. Sick as a dog on a boat headed for some place up north called Windhelm. But I was a free man now. I heard the captain yell out orders to get ready to dock as thick stone walls and pinpricks representing docks reared out of the mist. I went back to the crew quarters, readying my stuff before helping on deck.


End file.
